


Putting it Together

by airspaniel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bruises, M/M, Morning After, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John woke up breathless and achingly hard, having just had an extremely explicit and unusually vivid dream about his flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting it Together

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://entangled-now.livejournal.com/231916.html?thread=9867244#t9867244) as part of round four of the [Five Acts Meme](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/598881.html).

John woke up breathless and achingly hard, having just had an extremely explicit and unusually vivid dream about his flatmate. The dream’s plot, if there had indeed been one, was completely lost now, leaving behind only a torrent of images and remembered sensations - teeth in the side of his neck, his fingers digging into soft skin, slick lips hot and open against his own.

It was hardly the first time this had happened. John stretched against the sheets, feeling unaccountably sore this morning; ready to slide a hand down and take care of things. He encountered a problem, though, when he discovered he couldn’t move said hand. His arm was rather efficiently pinned to the bed by a heavy, warm weight. A heavy, warm weight that was breathing on his wrist.

This was different.

Slowly, John opened his eyes. And there was Sherlock, sleeping, sprawled on his stomach, using John’s arm as a pillow, one hand curled loosely in the tangled bedsheets. Completely naked.

John was suddenly forced to re-examine that “dream.” Oh god…

Moving very carefully, he turned on his side, the better to assess the situation. It was entirely possible that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this; that it was some sort of experiment, or the aftermath of some case Sherlock had been working on. He didn’t want to jump to any conclusions just because he was… because they were...

Further investigation. Right.

Sherlock’s back was smooth and pale and perfect, except for the stark red lines criss-crossing his shoulderblades, evenly spaced scratches, overlapping. John had seen scratches like those on his own back a fair few times, and no mistaking the cause.

“We had sex last night,” he blurted out, and immediately bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Sherlock shifted next to him. “Brilliant deduction, John. Did you work that out all on your own?” His voice was sleep heavy and rough, and it _did things_ deep in John’s gut. He was suddenly sharply reminded that he had an erection.

“We had _sex_ last night,” he repeated, still incredulous. His free hand wandered up of its own volition, lightly skimming over the marks on Sherlock’s back.

“Yes, John, you said that already. Do keep up.” Despite the scorn in his voice, Sherlock arched up into John’s hand, hissing a little at the sting. Some of the scratches were quite deep.

“But… how? _Why?_ ”

Sherlock turned over at that, facing John with an unimpressed stare. “To answer the how, athletically and repeatedly, and it’s not exactly flattering you don’t remember. As to why, you came home drunk and in a foul mood, doubtless brought on by your failed date with Yvonne from the chip shop - please, John, it’s obvious, and I don’t know what made you think that was a good idea in the first place.”

John snapped his mouth shut, not sure why he had even been surprised.

Sherlock continued, undaunted. “I asked to borrow your phone, and your response was an impressively long-winded tirade about our relationship which ended with, I believe your exact words were, _'if I’m going to work so bloody hard at this, I should at least be getting laid.'_ ”

“Ah,” John said, eloquently, face burning. He remembered that, now.

“I was amenable to the suggestion, and here we are.”

Leave it to Sherlock to sound dispassionate about sex. Sex that, by all available evidence, had been pretty damn spectacular. John’s hand was still on Sherlock’s back, and he slid it down, up over the curve of his hip; palm curling around the bone. There was a set of faint bruises there that matched his fingertips exactly. He tightened his hand on them, gratified at the sharp breath Sherlock took.

“Amenable?” John teased, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, we’re never going to get anywhere if all you do is repeat things.”

John smiled in what he hoped was a sexy manner and raked his nails over Sherlock’s arse, pulling his thigh up until his long leg was wrapped around John’s waist. “I can think of a few things I’d quite like to repeat, actually.”

Sherlock huffed out a sigh as derisive as it was amused, and stroked his thumb over John’s throat, pressing against a bruise John hadn’t known was there. “It’s no wonder you’re so popular with the ladies.”

“Shut up,” John said, fondly, and kissed him.


End file.
